Chuck vs the Not So Ordinary Life
by malamoo
Summary: AU. Chuck just wants to live an ordinary life but he's not having much luck. Chuck/Sarah.
1. The SetUp: Bryce

**_A/N: _**So this was almost the story that wasn't but I had a lot of encouragement, namely from the infamous **mxpw **(his influence will become more apparent in the following chapters) and the fabulous **Altonish** (who took a great deal of time out of his day to make things better). Give them a round of applause, won't you?

Short summary? This is an AU inspired by some of my favorite episodes and is an alternate take on how Sarah and Chuck could have met (hmm, sound like something you might have read recently?). The irony is that the first two chapters do not feature Chuck or Sarah and for that I am sorry. It was a necessary evil.

Anyway, hope you'll stick with it and enjoy the story. I am trying hard to keep it relatively angst free. This in itself has caused me quite a bit of angst. Just ask **mxpw. **

**Disclaimer**: Chuck is not mine.

* * *

**Chuck vs the Not So Ordinary Life **

1. The Set-Up: Bryce

Bryce wakes in the middle of the night with another splitting headache. Years ago in a neurology seminar he learned that it could be a sign of a brain lesion; now it would actually be a relief if it were. At least then there would be answers, treatments, and maybe even a cure.

He gets up to check the perimeters (you can never be too sure) and make sure the deadbolts on his bedroom door are still intact. Then and only then does he feel it's safe to go back to sleep, well, perhaps safe _enough_.

Bryce lies back in bed and tried to rest and perchance, to dream. It was hopeless, as usual; the only things he could think about were those better left forgotten. He'd always been taught to live life in the moment, as if he had no regrets at all, and the mentality worked most of the time. The regret only crept up on him on nights like these, when the pain was unbearable and the quiet darkness became a prison for his mind.

He'd done some good in his life and a great deal of wrong. He thought about how he'd sacrificed his closest friendship, how he'd slept with said best friend's girlfriend (it was for his own good) and in really desperate moments that he'd never admit to his CIA appointed psychologist, he thought about her. He thought about her too often, the blond woman who had almost changed his life. He wasn't the sentimental sort, but when an attack came as it did now, he found it very hard to avoid these sorts of thoughts. If only he'd never made that promise to Dr. Fleming. How different might his life be now?

Sarah Walker would always be the one that got away. Their relationship was the briefest of any relationship he'd ever had and yet it was the one that lingered longest in his memory. He only thought of her when these attacks came on; otherwise there were more useful pursuits; the receptionist he'd employed and the barista that made his drink every morning and even his girlfriend, if he was desperate. There were plenty of emotionally available and beautiful women interested in him, but when the vice came down on his head he only thought of Sarah. He doubted she'd appreciate her role in his troubled mind, but what she didn't know couldn't hurt him.

She'd been part of the reason and now she was gone. They had both been new to the game and so eager to please then; him more so, because he wanted not only to please but also to impress. Bryce had wanted to be the kind of man she'd want to be with. He wanted to be the American Hero.

So he was, sort of, but what of it? Who knew except for a few scientists and a decorated General who made him promise never to reveal the secret?

Was he still a hero, now that he no longer wanted any part of this? It was a futile thought. No one at Project Omaha knew how to fix him. There was only one person who knew for certain and that person had long vanished.

* * *

For a brief moment in the morning, Bryce wondered, as he always did, whether or not he should even appear at the office. Ironically he liked his job. It was exactly what he thought he might be doing before his first meeting with Fleming. Now he wondered how much of a difference he was making. It was a crippling thought. The future he imagined for himself five years ago was anything but this.

Whatever his superiors might say, it seemed unlikely for Roark to be involved with Fulcrum. Bryce had been working there two years; if they were anything other than a giant technology conglomerate there would have been a slip by now.

And so Bryce adjusted his designer tie, tucked his shirt into his Armani suit and shuffled off to the office. As per usual he avoided his designated parking space and opted to park beside a baseball field and bus the six blocks to the office. Sure it was tedious but it was a necessary safety precaution. They couldn't tamper with your car if they couldn't find it.

His secretary had a stack of applications ready when he arrived in his office. He eyed her legs when he picked up the paper. He could easily think of a much better way to spend the day. He wasn't especially keen on performing the interviews personally.

He thumbed through the candidates looking for excuses for rejection until he found a name that surprised him. A candidate he couldn't refuse.

* * *

"Chuck Bartowski."

Bryce stared at the man sitting across from him in utter disbelief. He hasn't said the name aloud in over five years.

"Hello, Bryce," Chuck replied. The man in the cheap suit had Chuck's voice. He had Chuck's hair, Chuck's eyes, and Chuck's slouch as he sat forwards in his seat but it still felt surreal. When Bryce had said goodbye, he had closed the door on a possibility such as this. It was better for Chuck that way.

"How… How are you? What have you been up to?" _Where have you been? What happened to you? What are you doing here? _Bryce had so many questions. His gnawing conscience had even more. Could they still talk like friends after all that had happened?

Chuck hesitated. He clasped his hands together and Bryce got the sense that things have not been well. Trying to get his former best friend flunked from Stanford in their senior year should come up as a major regret for Bryce but it didn't. He'd bargained with Fleming to spare him. Fleming wanted Chuck for Project Omaha, but Bryce had struck a deal. Destroy the Cipher and Bryce would agree to be patient X. Fleming was skeptical, but Bryce's score was high enough. Fleming got his candidate, Bryce saved an innocent soul; everyone left happy. Chuck would never know, but his life could have been a whole lot worse. Bryce was living proof of that.

"I've been all right," Chuck said. It was a vague answer and it seemed that Chuck didn't want to talk about it. When Bryce probed further he got a reiteration of what was written down on paper. His resume was succinct, sparse really. He was the only candidate who'd stopped with just a page to his name. All of Chuck's answers were perfectly rehearsed. Clearly there was something that Chuck didn't want to talk about.

"I see here you graduated from Caltech," Bryce said as he looked over Chuck's sheet. _See?_ His gnawing conscience was victorious. Bryce's betrayal hadn't turned out so badly, Chuck graduated from a very good school.

Chuck nodded in reply. "I heard you went into the military." Bryce stiffened but it was an entirely innocent remark. He remembered that it was part of his public biography on the company portfolio.

"It was a brief stint," he replied. "I realized it wasn't for me." He wondered if Chuck could tell just yet. It usually took a stranger a few visits at least but this was Chuck after all. They had a history. They had been friends.

Bryce pondered whether he should break into the usual list of questions. There were a lot of _why's_ but the one he really wanted answered was why would his old friend who hadn't spoken to him in five years show up here?

"So..."

Chuck sighed. "Listen, Bryce, I'm going to be honest with you." He stared forwards and held Bryce's gaze. "I need a job. You may find it hard to believe that a guy from Caltech has no relevant work experience but the truth is, I haven't done much with my life and now, at the age of twenty-six, I'm really starting to regret that. I don't think you'd understand—"

"I do," he said. Bryce felt slightly offended Chuck didn't believe him when he said it.

"Are you sleeping on your sister's couch and scrounging for change under the seats so you can catch a bus to your job interview?" Chuck said it with a twist of a grin on his face and Bryce wasn't sure whether to laugh it off or give his condolences.

"So..." he said slowly.

"So I thought you might be willing to do a favor for an old friend?" Chuck grinned. Bryce envied that about him. Even though he was penniless and going nowhere fast, the man carried himself as if all of life's problems could wait another day.

"Look it was stupid to come here, but I could use a break and I thought if anyone might be willing to give me a shot… Right, I should probably stop warming this seat for the guy you're actually going to hire." Chuck stood up and gathered his jacket. "It was nice seeing you again. I'm glad things worked out for you."

Bryce winced momentarily before straightening his features. He couldn't tell if Chuck meant it or not. He wanted to believe that he did, but could Chuck really be happy knowing the guy who tried to get him expelled from college was now living their so-called dream?

Chuck was already at his office door by the time Bryce managed to find his voice again. "Chuck, wait." He told himself it was just his gnawing conscience that caused him to speak.

Later when Bryce was alone he wondered what part of him had given Chuck the job. Was he helping out an old friend who just needed a break? Was he trying to make up for a past misdeed, or was he really just taking advantage of an old friend. Did he still get credit for the first two if he was intent on fulfilling the third? It was a question Bryce couldn't answer. Still, Chuck needed him, and he needed Chuck.

If anyone could tell him the whereabouts of Orion, it would be his son.


	2. The SetUp: Jill

**2. The Set-Up: Jill**

Jill tried to ignore it, but the whistling had to be one of the most annoying sounds she'd ever heard. With practice she could sometimes tune it out, but then there was the slam of something heavy and solid on the lab bench that caused everything in the vicinity to jump, Jill included.

She gritted her teeth while he laughed. She hated it when he did that.

Her associate grinned at his own handiwork. The only thing more annoying than the whistling was his shit-eating grin.

"Could you please be a little more discrete?" she asked, tersely setting down her instruments and removing her gloves. "There are people here at Roark Industries who aren't associated with us." She gave him a look so she wouldn't have to use the word.

The civilians; those normal people with their happy normal lives, who worked at Roark Industries by choice.

"Aw, we'll just say it's from the morgue," the man said, jabbing his elbow into the thick black body bag. Jill made a face. "We can say you needed someone for product testing. I can assure you, he won't care." He patted the body bag on the end that was obviously the head. "Isn't that right, Buddy?"

Brad turns and moves over to his own lab bench, having thoroughly defiled Jill's, and dons his white lab coat. The only thing more annoying and obnoxious than his shit-eating grin and whistling was the stethoscope poking out of his coat pocket.

He had a doctorate in philosophy for Pete's sake. Jill doubted he even knew how to use a stethoscope for anything other than getting into women's pants.

"Brad, get that body off my table—"

"Or you'll drop some poison into my lunch," the man said, waving his hand. "Yah. Yah. Heard that one before." Without a second glance he grabbed a corner of the body-bag and began to drag. The body slipped off the bench and landed with a loud thud on the ground. Brad continued to drag the bag along the floor, grunting as he pushed it out of the hall and into one of the walk-in freezers.

Yes, in the purest scientific sense it was just another dead body, but he didn't have to do his job with so much indifference.

Jill seriously considered slipping something into his lunch. Like an empathy pill, or maybe just some high grade sedative. Perhaps she should make good on her threat and use rat poison. It would be fitting. She could store him next to his new friend.

When Brad came back, he began to pester her about a barbecue at the testing compound.

"Aw come on, you'd like it," he said with a waggle of his brows. "Meadow Branch is pretty cute. It's completely your type. You know, cookie cutter and white-picket fences. The whole deal."

Jill glared at him. She didn't have a type and if she did, _Brad_ certainly wouldn't know what it was. "No thank you," she said. "That's not really my idea of fun." She knew what that compound was for and she didn't like it, especially not with a success rate that was smaller than Brad's emotional quotient.

Brad shrugged. "You could invite your _boyfriend._" He laughed in a mocking sort of way when Jill had no response for him. "How are things going? Doesn't look like you're making much progress."

Jill growled. "More progress than you are," she snapped back. "You think if you keep grabbing random schleps off the street one of them will work out? You don't think people are going to start wondering about all the missing persons in the greater LA area?"

Brad smirked. "I wouldn't have to grab random shmucks off the street if you where the Cipher was."

Oh so it was her fault people were dying right, left and center. Jill didn't even know where to start. Sometimes she was won over by the generous grants, the thrill of making a name for herself, the thought of making a difference in the world.

And sometimes she just thinks she's way in over her head and every move she makes to return to shore is just another in the wrong direction.

* * *

At lunch she sits with her boyfriend. She's not a weak sniveling creature, and though some love and attention would be nice, she doesn't need it the way she needs water and air.

So it kills her that some part of her actually needs him. That whatever emotional thread she has left has a need for his approval or affection. He's supposed to be a mark, but mark or no, it kills her every time he cheats on her. She could have a double doctorate, she could win a Nobel for her groundbreaking work, but none of that would matter to them if she couldn't get what they needed.

"How was your day?" she asked, picking at her sandwich. She always had a honey-ham sandwich with light mustard. He always had an energy bar and a Red Bull (for the headaches, he claims).

"Fine." He doesn't make a lot of eye contact (because of the headaches, he said) but Jill has a haunch it's more than that. Sometimes he doesn't seem that interested...period. It's exhausting that Jill has to put all in all of the effort to keep their relationship together. It would be nice if he cared a little.

"Are you doing anything this evening?"

"No."

"Do you want to go to a concert with me?" Jill had season passes for the philharmonic orchestra but she had yet to use them this year. "It's Brahms."

He shrugged. "Not really. But you can come over to my place afterwards." He looked at her then and she knew what he was proposing. It was really all that he was interested in anymore and even that was getting to be few and far between.

Jill shuddered and swallowed her bitterness. Sometimes she felt like he said things on purpose to spite her, as if he knew what she was really after; quid pro quo.

Everyone has needs but weren't they friends at least? Hadn't they been friends first, before this?

"So?" he asked. "Are you coming over?"

Jill sighed. "I'll think about it."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"I said I'd think about it, Bryce," Jill snapped. Then, feeling sorry, she tried to smooth the waters. "Did you make a decision on the position?"

He nodded. Jill asked no more. It wasn't like she was dying to know who he had hired as his new software developer. It was probably just another happy normal person with boring normal life and a benign name like Todd or Rick or—

Jill dropped her sandwich and spilled her drink all over the table.

"Christ, Jill, watch what you're doing!" Bryce snarled as he rushed to mop up her drink.

"Chuck." Jill felt like her heart had momentarily stopped. "Chuck Bartowski?" Her voice had shrunk to a small squeak. When had she started hallucinating? This simply wasn't possible.

Bryce lifted his head and they both watched as Chuck walked up to them. Jill was at a loss for words. She hadn't seen or heard from him since their break-up. It had been during her initiation and Leader had insisted that she cut ties to anyone she had real feelings for. She'd been so eager to impress, she'd barely fought them over it and five years later, she could still see the after-effects of her short-sightedness.

He _recognized_ her, that was sure, but it took him a moment to speak her name aloud. He no longer says it with the warmth he used to, like it was his favourite word in the whole language. It wasn't exactly surprising, Jill knew she shouldn't expect much from a man whose heart she'd broken.

"It's been a long time," she said tentatively. Her hands are trembling so badly she has to hide them in her lap. She almost brought up their time shared at Stanford but it was a sore point for the three of them. Most of the time she tried to forget any of it ever happened. When people asked how she met Bryce, she always said "_At work_."

He nodded. "It has."

Bryce stared at her with more intensity that he'd ever done. "He's my new hire."

Jill stared back at him and almost asked _Why?_ in front of Chuck.

Sometimes she thinks she's got him all figured out and then he does something so out of left-field she doesn't think she knows him at all. She doesn't know why he would hire a man he personally tried to destroy five years ago.

She'd asked him, after their first time, why he'd done it. He told her all was fair in love and war. And yet after that initial moment of desperation (on her part at least), he barely spoke to her again until graduation. She'd never been able to figure it out. They had all been best friends and then _poof, _one day it was gone.

She'd tried to talk to him about it once, but he didn't speak to her for a week afterwards and she never tried again.

Maybe he felt the same kind of guilt she did, but that would be hard to believe. She had acted to protect Chuck, so that he wouldn't be tangled in her mess. Bryce was in it all for himself. No one forced him to sleep with his best friend's girlfriend. _Ex_…Jill reminded herself. Even if she hadn't felt it at the time, it was in the aftermath of the relationship when she had been so vulnerable.

Bryce had taken advantage of her. She'd mistaken sex for compassion. Honestly it was the last time she'd had sex because she wanted to.

Jill closed her eyes before the bitter tears began. It didn't do to dwell on what you couldn't change.

"It's nice seeing you again," Jill finally said, and she meant it even if her voice sounded hallow.

"Likewise," Chuck replied. Jill wanted more than anything to believe he was speaking the truth.

* * *

She does something she's never done before and bribes the receptionist at the lab to bribe the office manager at Human Resources for Chuck's file. It costs her two vials of a yet-to-be-released wrinkle-rid serum she helped develop when one of the compounds she was attempting to purify went wayward. She doesn't care, she'd have paid more; she'd have paid real money if she had to. Besides, the serum had never been tested on human subjects so it was a win-win, at least for her.

Jill felt some embarrassment when she first opened Chuck's file. What she was doing was wrong; if she still meant anything to Chuck she should be able to ask him for these facts personally. However, she was honest with herself and she knew if she wanted answers, she could not go to Chuck for them. There was a time when he would have told her anything she wanted to know, but that ship had sailed into the horizon many years ago. He'd looked at her, acknowledged her presence and exchanged polite conversation with her. It was more than she could have hoped for.

His file was thin so she had to read between the lines. He'd finished his degree at Caltech which meant the stain of Stanford hadn't followed him far—well, how could it? The accusations of academic fraud were laughable and Chuck had an alibi the night of the break in into Professor Fleming's office. One failed class wasn't enough to ruin his academic career.

Following that, there was little else. He'd worked part-time at an electronics store in Burbank as tech-support three years ago. Did that mean he was unmotivated? Unqualified? Had something happened in his family that forced him to give up a more promising position elsewhere? It was a mystery. Chuck was as gifted with computers as anyone she'd ever seen, but working an electronics store? There had to be more to that story. Her Chuck would never have needed to stoop so low.

His address was listed in a decent neighbourhood. It was a two-bedroom apartment so she assumed he had a roommate. His emergency contact was his sister; not surprising considering what he'd told her about his parents.

There was no mention of his marital status but his health benefits had been placed under a singular plan which meant he had at the very most, a girlfriend he was not too serious about. Jill didn't know how to take the news. Had he moved on, and would she be happy knowing he hadn't?

There was only one way to find out. She'd have to ask him.

* * *

The first thing Jill says to Chuck when they are alone together is "I'm sorry".

She'd been stunned really that he'd agreed to meet her. Now as she sat her staring into her coffee all the words in the world seemed somehow inadequate.

"I'm sorry," she said again to fill the silence. She could say it over and over again, a hundred million times and she would if it meant anything to him.

Chuck took a sip of his coffee and looked down at his watch. Either he had bought himself a watch that exactly replicated the one she had given him for their first anniversary or it was the same watch. Jill was speechless.

It could mean something life changing or nothing at all.

Chuck just discretely pulls his shirt sleeve forwards, shielding it from view. "I should get back soon."

Jill nods. "Of course," she said. They were both here on their allotted fifteen minute coffee break. They were in full view of the public and they were still within Roark Industries property. They haven't broken any rules. They haven't even exchanged more than a few pleasantries with one another.

"It's in the past," Chuck finally said. He looked at her with those beautiful brown eyes. How could she have forgotten their warmth? "And I think we should keep it that way."

Jill nodded again. She wanted to explain but how could he understand? Would he believe the organization that she worked for, the one that didn't technically exist, had insisted that they split?

"So, I hear you're still with Bryce." His words are a knife to the heart. The irony was almost too poignant. The cover she'd used to hide the truth now prevented her from being honest with him.

It wasn't fair. She'd waited five years for a chance to clear the air and now here it was. What was she waiting for—another five years?

And then Jill realized she didn't want to be in a relationship coerced by her employers and fronted by a facade. She was a scientist not some cheap harlot trying to decipher pillow talk. She had real feelings and damn it she still had her dignity.

She could convince them that Bryce would never give up the Cipher but that he might be talked into giving it to best friend. That was assuming Bryce even had what they wanted. She'd never found any evidence that Bryce was still connected to the military or the CIA. If he'd been an agent it was really in the past; Bryce didn't even own a gun.

"Actually," she said, falling into his warm brown eyes. "The thing with Bryce is kind of recent. Old friends, you know?" She paused thoughtfully. "It's not really working out." She felt like a boulder had been lifted off her chest. "It's never been a great fit."

And then she allowed herself to smile, her first real smile since she started working for Roark Industries.


	3. The SetUp: Chuck

**_A/N: _**_There's only one more POV to go before we get into the real story so stay tuned! _

**The Set-Up: Chuck**

It was never a good thing when the boss called you into the office; Chuck could count on one hand the number of times it has and it was vastly overshadowed by the contrary. And because they were not going to open the can of worms that was Stanford and lend themselves to scrutiny as to how Chuck landed the position in the first place, he couldn't gripe about his situation the way his coworkers did.

Chuck kept a lot of things to himself and this was no different.

He only had to knock once before the door whipped open. "Chuck! Come in!" Bryce latched onto his elbow and dragged him inside, slamming the door shut and locking it. The man then proceeded to carefully shut all the blinds and close all the curtains, making the glory of a corner office a moot point.

Chuck mutely took a seat while Bryce went through his ritual. If he interrupted it would only make the neurosis worse. He'd lost contact with Bryce for many years, in part due to lingering bitterness towards his sudden betrayal and in part due to his own familial ties which made maintaining any meaningful relationship impossible. Chuck still had no idea exactly what military obligation Bryce had taken part in but the experience must have been traumatic.

Chuck has never asked and Bryce has never volunteered. What was clear was that the jovial, charismatic Bryce Larkin of Stanford was somewhere buried under a bitter and paranoid exterior.

"You can never be too careful," Bryce told him as he double-checked their surroundings. "Don't worry, Chuck, we're safe here."

Chuck nodded politely, although he had no idea what they were safe from. He wiped his sweaty palms on his slacks and straightened out his tie. Sometimes he thought they were friends, sometimes he thought he couldn't trust him further than he could throw him and most of the time he had no idea. Bryce was a moving target; no one could read him.

"So, you wanted to talk to me?"

Bryce adjusted the pencils he'd sharpened to a point and arranged in perfect parallel lines in front of him. "Hmm?" He picked one up and fiddled with it. "Ah yes, I wanted to ask you how things are going? Are you enjoying it here?"

Chuck gulped quietly. So this was about the Burbank incident. To be honest he hadn't even intended to spend so much time there. He'd hoped to sneak off at lunch to hang out with Morgan for a bit but one thing lead to another and next thing he knew the office had already closed for the night.

"Work's work," he replied in the most nonchalant voice he could muster.

Bryce considered the comment for a moment. There was a long silence, a ripe opportunity for Chuck to fess up to all his lies, but he doesn't. And when he doesn't bite, Bryce has no choice but to let it go.

"Chuck… If something's wrong with the project, I want you to know you can talk to me. I won't judge you, I just want to help."

Suddenly Chuck wondered if Bryce was referring to the Paris incident and how he ended up flying to Moscow instead. He'd been quite blasé about letting Chuck fly out for a repair job. It was a little odd for the project lead to head out on a customer call instead of sending someone from tech support.

Chuck flushed with embarrassment. "I'm trying my best." _When I can. _

"Chuck, lighten up," Bryce leaned back in the large office chair and sighed. "I don't want you to see me as the enemy. If you or the project need help… just let me know." Chuck's shoulders slumped a little. Bryce had never demanded much of him. Truthfully, in all the time he's been here, Bryce has been the perfect boss, and yet Chuck couldn't help but always feel like he was a second away from receiving a pink slip.

"If anything comes up, you'll let me know, won't you?" Bryce asked.

"Like what?"

Bryce shuffled the pencils around. "I don't know, just anything suspicious. You know what I mean, don't you?" he whispered, giving him a strange look.

Chuck didn't really; he wasn't sure what exactly to be suspicious of. The only person doing things they shouldn't was him but he wasn't exactly about to bare his soul to Bryce.

"Yes, Sir," Chuck replied.

Bryce's lips turned into a deep frown. "I've told you… you don't have to call me Sir. Especially when it's just us." Bryce waved his arms around the empty room. "We're all friends here, right?"

"Uh…right," Chuck answered tentatively.

"_Anything_," Bryce stressed. "It doesn't have to be about work. If there's anything at home bothering you, you can always come to me. You know that, right?"

Chuck had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. The only person at home was Ellie and Ellie's life was perfect.

"Got it," he said with a nervous smile. "Thanks. Have to get back to work. Computers aren't going to fix themselves."

"We have tech support, Chuck, you don't have to fix them all yourself. You're job is to create new technology."

"Of course!" Chuck nodded. "Working on it. I'll get you something as soon as I can."

Bryce nodded absent-mindedly. "Right. Right. Just keep what I said in mind, okay?"

* * *

Chuck was eating lunch at the cafeteria with Jill when he received the text. He'll admit he wasn't the best at disguising his emotions but Jill was like a bloodhound when it came to detecting even the slightest fluctuations in his mood.

"What's the matter?"

Chuck shrugged. "My Uncle Larry's bugging me to go fishing with him this weekend," he said. It was not a lie and if Jill wanted to check the text it would say exactly that. Chuck still struggled with deception but he had gotten good at telling white lies.

"Oh." Jill pushed up her glasses, a sign that he had unfortunately captivated her attention. "I didn't know you had an Uncle Larry."

"Well there are a lot of things you don't know about me," Chuck said. Jill fell quiet and the air between them became thick with tension. He sighed as he set down his lunch, having lost his appetite for good.

The thing was, they were no longer the same people they were five years ago and while that was clear to Chuck, it wasn't always clear to Jill. She seemed to anticipate that full disclosure was still part of their relationship, even though they weren't together anymore.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to snap at you. And yes, I have an Uncle Lawrence. I met him after Stanford."

Chuck couldn't believe it. The lies were practically rolling off his tongue these days.

Jill gave him a sympathetic pat on the hand. "It's okay," she said. "Are you sure that's the only thing that's bothering you?" Her hand continued to linger over his as she spoke. "Is Bryce giving you a hard-time about the break-up? To be honest, I expected he'd be happy about it. Sorry if he's taking it out on you."

Chuck turned his head away so Jill wouldn't notice his grin. _Oh Jill,_ he thought. Sometimes she was just a little too empathetic.

"What's so funny?" she asked. She squeezed his hand, forcing him to pay attention to what she was saying.

Chuck tried to withdraw his hand without making it seem obvious that he was doing so. "Nothing, it's just strange," Chuck said, trying his hardest to suppress any expression of humor at all. It was next to impossible though, especially when Jill was giving him the squinty-eyed pout. It reminded him of an aggravated baby bunny; you couldn't take her seriously even if you wanted to.

"Well excuse me for caring too much," she said with a huff.

Chuck smiled. "Jill, don't you think it's odd that you're asking me how things are between Bryce and I when, if memory recalls, it was _you_ who ended the relationship with both of us? Why would Bryce have any problems with me?"

Jill opened her mouth, ready to defend herself, but the words never came out.

"Besides we're just friends, it's not like you ended it for me. It's like you said, it wasn't working out."

She sighed and went back to her sandwich. "You're right," she said, her voice full of defeat. "Never mind."

Chuck waited for Jill to say more; even when she lost an argument she always had the last word, but not this time. Had he missed something?

"So what are you doing this weekend?"

Jill didn't even bat an eyelash. "Work," she said. The same thing she did every weekend—and here he thought it was pathetic that he intended to dedicate an entire Saturday to playing video games with Morgan, even though he'd already missed two project deadlines.

"You work too much," he said. He felt badly for her even if she didn't. He'd seen the after-effects of those who defined their lives by their careers and he didn't want her to fall down that path. Even after everything that had happened between them, they were still at the very least friends, and friends just didn't let friends work themselves into the ground.

Jill shrugged. "Not like I have much else to do."

"Don't you have season passes to the philharmonic?"

Jill's ears perked. "You remember that?"

Chuck shrugged. For someone who didn't have much of a life outside of work, Jill had a startling number of season passes and membership cards for clubs and societies he'd never even heard of. Maybe it was her way of pretending that she had a life outside of work.

"Well I do but there's no one to go with me and I don't like going alone," she said, staring down at her sandwich.

Chuck stared at her from across the table. If that was the only thing preventing her from having a social life then it wasn't much of an excuse. "Well I could go with you," he said.

Jill suddenly lifted her head and met his gaze. She was wary at first, he could see it in her eyes, and then the expression became thoughtful.

"Not as a date," Chuck clarified, when the silence was becoming awkward. "You know, just as friends."

There were _friends_.

The corners of Jill's lips tugged into a slow smile. "Really?" she asked softly. "I'd like that." When Chuck nodded the affirmative, her face burst into a full mega-watt smile. "That would be great! Thanks, Chuck."

He was about to respond but she cut him off. "I want you to know that I know we could never go back to the way things used to be." She lowered her eyes and nervously withdrew her hands from the middle of the table. "But I appreciate you still willing to be my friend. I really do. You're..." She gnawed on her lips, building the anticipation. "You're just a really great guy, Chuck. I just thought you should know."

Chuck didn't know what to say and perhaps it was better that way. He had tried so hard to get over her and for awhile he thought it had actually worked. He told himself over and over again all the wrong she had done him, how he could never forgive her, but all it took were a few words, a reticent smile, a touch on the shoulder for the scars of Stanford fade into a distant memory.

* * *

Chuck tried to enjoy his weekend. He listened to some Vivaldi with Jill on Friday, went to a club with Bryce on Saturday (for all of thirty minutes before he complained the strobe lights were bothering him) and spent the rest of the evening playing games with Morgan. Then came Sunday and he realized in less than twenty-four hours it would be Monday and the old routine would start all over again.

And there was still the "Uncle Larry" situation; if he didn't make a visit soon, the next visit would no longer be on his volition. Things had gotten out of hand the last time he refused to meet and the last thing he needed was to become the next Bryce. It was bad enough he already had two people like that in his life without turning into one himself.

He made an early day out of Sunday; woke up at dawn, skipped out on breakfast and drove out of the city. He drove until he was the only car on the road and followed the unmarked dirt road until he arrived at the agreed upon meeting spot.

He followed the tedious process of meeting his "uncle" to the T but despite that, he still received the usual interrogation when he entered the nearly dilapidated residence.

"Are you sure you weren't followed?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dad, I followed protocol."

Stephen Bartowski was not satisfied until Chuck recited the protocol to him and even then, he still received the shifty eyes. The man was worse than Bryce Larkin. In fact, Chuck feared in another twenty-years Bryce Larkin would be just like his father.

"So you wanted to see me?" Chuck said. He tried to find a path to the fridge but there was such an abundance of papers and books that Chuck had no idea what kind of flooring the cabin had. When he stole a glance at his father, he noticed that he was wearing the same sweater and jeans he last saw him in. Which was also the same ensemble he saw him in the time before that. And the time before that.

"Yeah. I've got some leads I think you should look into." His father started to ramble and dig through a nearby pile of papers while Chuck sniffed around the fridge, trying to find something safe to drink. He grabbed a can of coke, which was the only thing he recognized, and wiped the top with the corner of his shirt.

"Did you know Roark Industries recently made a partnership deal with Clearwater Genomics?"

Chuck shrugged. He'd have to ask Jill, it had nothing to do with his area of expertise. "Maybe, why?"

His father made an aggravated sigh. "Pay attention, Chuck! Clearwater Genomics' largest investor is Red Crown Dynamics and Red Crown Dynamics' largest shareholder is Alexei Volkoff—"

_Oh God!_ Chuck rolled his eyes. Not this again. This was almost as bad as having to listen to Bryce talk about the pigeons who were spying on him from the windowsill.

He held out his hands. _No more of this._ "Dad—"

"Chuck, listen—"

"No, Dad, you listen." Chuck took a deep breath and was a almost taken aback by the silence that followed. "I've been to Paris, to Burma, to Costa Gravas..." He held out his hand and numbered each with his fingers. "...Moscow, Istanbul, Rome...when is it ever going to be enough? I'm not looking into another lead for you. I can't keep skipping out on my real job; they're going to start asking questions."

It didn't matter. It never has.

"Might I remind you, Charles, that this is about your mother. The woman who gave you life and raised you, took care of you—"

"Yeah, until she ran out on us," Chuck added, taking a swig of his coke. All the sugar in the world couldn't take the bitterness out of his mouth.

"Don't you speak to your mother that way!" the elder Bartowski warned. "Your mother loved you and your sister and she would never have left if she didn't have reason to."

Chuck held his tongue. If he argued he'd get the talk of being a family again and one way or another, all the blame would either be pinned on Ellie (which he'd never allow) or himself.

"Maybe Mom doesn't want to be found. Have you ever thought of that?" Chuck asked. "Besides, you have leads. You have resources. You're brilliant. You don't need me."

Stephen Bartowski crossed his arms. There was warmth in his eyes but it was at arm's length; reserved.

"You know why I need you, Chuck. It's been increasingly difficult for me to leave the country since 9-11. There are people looking for me and if they catch me flying around it will put the world in extreme danger."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Right."

"Believe it or not, Son, there are people in this world who want to use my inventions for evil. It's best that we not let them."

Chuck had no idea what inventions his father was talking about. He saw the man tinkering with a lot of old pieces of junk but there was never any actual finished product to show for it.

"So here's what I think we should do..."

Chuck listened because he had no choice. He was going to have to follow the lead. It would placate him for a little while and buy himself some time. What were a few insanely dangerous days for a few weeks of a normal life?


	4. The SetUp: Sarah

_**A/N: **Before you begin, have you read **Altoni****sh**'s Sarah vs 22 minutes with Carina? It provides some set-up for this chapter and it's a fun read. You should check it out!_

_So we've finally the last of the set-up chapters. Hopefully now you'll have a better idea of what everyone's motivations are because it's about to get messy.  
_

**The Set-Up: Sarah**

Sarah had only been inside the general's office for five minutes and already she knew Carina was wrong. Carina might have gotten her choice of assignments, but Sarah was going to be force fed crap and there was nothing she could do about it. The realization annoyed her. What was the point in being at the top of her game if she couldn't get out of assignments like these?

"General, with all due respect, I don't feel like Los Angeles would be the best use of my skills set." She spoke in a calm and assertive tone, as she had been taught to, but her eyes bore into the diminutive General's.

It just wasn't fair. They were clearly punishing her.

To her credit, General Beckman hardly batted an eyelash. "Agent Walker, you are aware of Project Omaha?"

It was a redundant question. The woman had her file open on her desk. "I am aware," Sarah replied. She had been assigned to the project for a brief period of time years ago before she was (thankfully) reassigned.

"I understand it was not especially successful."

General Beckman's lips tensed into a thin line. "No. Not yet at least. Even our best candidate lacked the ability to process encoded images rapidly enough to be an efficient processor of information."

Sarah felt chills run down her spine. That was an awfully cold description.

"However we still believe that success is possible."

Sarah furrowed her brows. "You mean..."

"We believe we can create field agents with the entire repository of CIA and NSA intelligence inbedded into them. Yes." General Beckman didn't give her time to interrupt. "We have reason to believe it is not only feasible, but that others are attempting to do it right now as we speak. We suspect that a covert organization known as Fulcrum intends to utilize this technology to train a new generation of super operatives."

Sarah had to bite the inside of her cheek not to laugh out loud. This sounded like the back cover of a bad sci-fi novel. What happened to good old kidnapping and ballistics?

"I don't see why this requires me to relocate to Los Angeles." Especially since she was all too aware of an assignment in Rome involving dinners with foreign dignitaries and an upscale apartment three minutes away from the _Fontana di Trevi_.

"At the inception of Project Omaha, the lead designer created an aptitude exam for cognitive recognition and recall. This test was given to students around the nation and the scores were pooled together. Among the finalists was a candidate who scored _exceptionally_ well. Unfortunately the test subjects' identities were protected by a cipher. This was done for the safety of all involved. While we have the test scores for the highest scoring candidate, we no longer have access to the cipher that can identify who the test subject was."

"Can't you get that from the recruiter that administered the test?"

"Possibly. However Professor Fleming left a distress call at our Los Angeles substation some time ago and went underground. He's not been heard from since. We have to believe he's been captured by Fulcrum."

Sarah arched a brow. She sensed there was more to the story that General Beckman was not telling her. It wasn't unlike other assignments she'd been sent on but it was annoying.

"There is a chance that someone knows the location of the cipher. Professor Fleming had one particular student who he was quite close to and whom he kept in contact."

Sarah sat motionless in her seat. "I'm sorry, General, I don't understand what this has to do with me." Her time in Project Omaha had been limited; she hadn't even understood her role before she had been recalled.

"Your mission is to determine the identity of the candidate and bring them back for further testing. Should you find evidence of Fulcrum's similar endeavours in regards to the Intersect, your orders are to gather information only. Our primary objective is the identity of Candidate X.

"Your new cover is Manager of External Relations under the Software Division at Roark Industries. You will answer to the Division Manager, who will also be leading the search for Candidate X.

Sarah grimaced. "I'm answering to someone else on this mission?"

"It's the only way he would agree to help."

Sarah rolled her eyes. Great another _prima donna_ mission leader. As if working with Carina wasn't bad enough. "Who?"

"Bryce Larkin."

Sarah choked. "Excuse me? I thought Bryce Larkin was out of commission."

General Beckman hesitated for a moment. Her hesitation spoke volumes more than anything she'd actually said. "He was…at least for the purposes of his cover."

"Bryce still works for the CIA?" Sarah asked in shock. There'd been a time when the two of them had been quite close. He'd been her partner. Then she'd been recalled and last she heard, he'd quit the Agency.

"Yes, well more specifically, Bryce Larkin works for me," the General replied. "Fulcrum has penetrated the very core of our government. Fulcrum hunting operations are kept extremely close to the vest. That's my job. To find and destroy Fulcrum. I only use agents that I trust implicitly."

"And that's me?" Sarah asked. She tried not to sound too surprised and whatever feelings of self-import she may have felt at being the _chosen_ _one_ was short-lived.

"Not exactly. Bryce, however, has indicated that he trusts you. Therefore for the purposes of this mission I must trust you as well; I need someone on the ground in Los Angeles who is a capable field agent."

Sarah frowned. "So what am I, an extra? Bryce is a perfectly capable agent. The best…actually."

Beckman frowned at her. Silence stretched between them until Sarah started to squirm in her chair; General Beckman's gaze was unsettling. "There was an incident, years ago. As a result Bryce isn't cleared for field activity. He's more of an analyst at this point. He's a good man, brave…a patriot, but he's not agent. Not anymore."

There was something more there. Something insidious that Sarah didn't like thinking about. Still with Bryce gone, she was one of the best.

She and Bryce had been a long time ago. Even if Bryce had requested her, it didn't feel right. Her talents were best spent on the bleeding edge, not performing PI duties in Los Angeles. "There must be someone else you can send. I'd be a waste for this kind of junior detective work," Sarah tried.

When General Beckman doesn't immediately answer, Sarah realized that was exactly what she was. She clenched her teeth. So this _was_ punishment.

"I could be far more useful to you where a more experienced hand is needed. In Rome, perhaps?"

General Beckman narrowed her eyes. "Someone has already been dispatched to Rome," she informed. "As for Los Angeles, I believe it's the perfect assignment for you. I think it's about time you had some time to recollect your thoughts."

The thought of sitting in a cubicle auditing credit card receipts and phone records in a vain attempt to uncover villainous activity made her eyes glaze over.

"If it's about Bogota I've already explained myself. Agent Miller took longer than we'd planned to set up the explosives and in order for the mission to be a success I had to engage."

General Beckman nodded. "Understood. However Commander Lopez was the nephew of President Frederique. The President has demanded that the person responsible face a trial."

"His nephew was dirty, he was supporting the cartel!"

"We believe you, but diplomatic relations…"

"Diplomatic relations!" Sarah cried. Why bother having diplomatic relations with them at all?

"Yes, diplomatic relations are rocky at best right now. It would go a long way if the CIA were to burn the agent responsible for Commander Lopez's death.

Sarah shot out of her seat. "You're burning me?" She couldn't believe it. After all the effort, the dedication, the self-control she showed not to slap Carina upside the head—and this was the thanks she got?

"Please control yourself, Agent Walker," General Beckman said. Despite everything, the diminutive woman remained unmoved. "We are not burning you, you're simply coming to work for me, but for the purposes of the CIA we will have to consider you burned."

Sarah tried to stare a hole through the General.

"You will go to Los Angeles and assist in the search for Candidate X. Upon completion of your mission your burn notice will be lifted and you'll be welcomed back into the CIA."

"I can't believe this. Agent Miller gets a raise and a commendation and I get burned?" Sarah sputtered.

"Yes, well the budget is tight at the DEA and Agent Miller did recover one point four million in drug money. From their perspective the operation was a success… However, someone has to take responsibility for the death of Commander Lopez."

Sarah blinked. "_One point four_?" Sarah clarified.

General Beckman picked up a piece of paper on her desk and scanned it quickly. "According to the mission debriefing, yes."

Sarah was going to kill Carina right after she chewed her out and beat her sorry ass to a pulp.

Later, after this nightmare was over.

"What if I don't agree to this?" Sarah asked. "What if I say no?"

General Beckman gave Sarah a tight smile, the kind she saved especially for these situations. "Well we can always make the burn notice real."


	5. The Search: Sarah vs The Boss

**_A/N: _**_So apologies are in order. I pushed **Altonish **and **mxpw** to proof these chapters for me and then I didn't update. Sorry guys! And to my readers, I haven't had a chance to get back to many of you but I will...er...soon. I went on a mini-vacation and ended up in a place that didn't have internet (I know, shocking!) _

_Anyway, hope you enjoy. The pacing will get faster now that we're into the real story and I promise something very "good" will happen in the chapters to come.  
_

* * *

**The Search:** Sarah vs The Boss

Sarah didn't have much time after landing to get settled before she received a call from Roark Industries requesting a meet. She dropped everything off at her hotel room—the first bit of promising news all week—and headed out. They hadn't given her an apartment or a house to live in, which meant she'd be here for six months or less, a year tops. It was the first bit of promising news she'd gotten since they told her she'd be working with Carina on the DEA mission gone bad. She could make it a year if she had to, then get the assignment she'd been coveting, make Carina see how wrong she'd been, and receive the accolades she deserved for what went down in Bogota.

Sarah normally enjoyed driving but the dinky rental car compounded with the idiocy she faced from adjacent drivers severely tested her patience. By the time she finally pulled into the lot she was less than interested in understanding the inner-workings of parking etiquette.

The Roark Industries building was an insult to architecture. A beyond massive glass and metal heap, it looked like someone had parked an alien spaceship in the middle of Los Angeles. It achieved its desired effect however, nobody would question that a powerful company was at work here. It was equally matched by its gargantuan and completely convoluted underground parking structure.

Her awe was quickly overshadowed by the frustration of finding Visitor parking. It took her fifteen minutes of reading reserved placards to realize it was on the other side of the massive underground structure. By the time she had parked, she couldn't understand why Visitor parking would be farther away than Reserved parking, seeing as how visitors would be the ones who needed something straightforward and simple.

Sarah finally made her way out of the air conditioned parking lot and an even colder blast of air welcomed her as she walked into the building lobby. _This building must be single-handedly destroying the environment_, Sarah thought as she made her way towards the ridiculously opulent reception desk.

"Welcome to Roark Industries, how may I help you today?" chimed the receptionist in the main lobby. Sarah had to quickly restrain her frustrations so she wouldn't frighten the girl. It wasn't her fault the traffic here was so stupid and the layout of the parking garage made no sense.

"I have an appointment with Bryce Larkin," she explained.

"Oh?" The girl gave her an odd look-over. "You're sure it's with Bryce Larkin?"

Hadn't that been what she said? "Yes. Bry-ce Lark-in," she said, enunciating the name slowly to make sure there would be no mistake. Sarah was opposed to the myth that blonde hair made you stupid, but the receptionist wasn't really helping the cause of blonde women everywhere.

The girl looked perplexed. "Oh. Mr. Larkin doesn't get many visitors, but if you are sure. It's on the ninth floor. Take the third bank of elevators to your left. I'll have someone meet you. You'll just need to pin this to your jacket."

The receptionist handed her a bright yellow badge proclaiming her visitor status, and Sarah thought at first it had to be a bad joke. It was hideous. When the receptionist persisted she took the badge and clipped it to her lapel.

Sarah reluctantly thanked the woman and walked down the length of the lobby towards the elevators. That had been unnecessarily difficult. What did she mean Bryce didn't usually have visitors? He was the head of the division!

Along the way she noticed not one, but two coffee shops, a patio sitting area and what looked to be the entrance of a gym. Everything looked so normal she'd be hard-pressed to believe it was potentially a cover for covert operations. She had to admit the building was so huge that you could hide an entire CIA substation inside and nobody would ever know.

Sarah stepped into the first elevator of the third bank and waited to be brought to the ninth floor. It had been a long time since she'd integrated herself into office life, so all the people mindlessly hustling from here and there made her a little claustrophobic. Their movements seemed carefully choreographed but strangely chaotic at the same time.

By the time she reached the Enterprise Technology Division, her olfactory senses had become well acquainted with some of the most pungent perfumes and colognes she'd ever smelled. Having spent her share of nights at the parties of the rich and famous, she thought she could finally appreciate the difference between perfume sold by the gallon and the kind that could only be bought by the drop.

Sarah stepped out, eyes watering, only to come face to face with a smiling brunette in a very well fitting suit. The woman took in Sarah's visitor badge momentarily before extending her hand.

"You must be Sarah. I'm so sorry I didn't notify reception that you were coming. It's been busy, busy, busy up here, but I'm sure you can only imagine," the woman chattered.

The office appeared quite the contrary but Sarah didn't mention it. She quickly analyzed the woman—brown hair, brown eyes, average height—she was (from an entirely objective point of view) quite pretty. Her hair was glossy, her teeth were straight and she seemed very _perky._ Sarah hoped she wouldn't be a permanent feature, but it certainly looked that way.

"My name is Greta," the woman explained as she guided Sarah down the office hallway. Sarah's eyes darted to the desk in front of a heavy cherry door, where a placard that read _Greta Greenwich_ seemed to confirm as much.

"So are you a friend of Mr. Larkin?" she asked.

Sarah nearly tripped over her own two feet. "Excuse me?" Was it _that_ obvious she and Bryce had a history together?

"Oh, I just mean, there's usually a lot of competition for these positions, but as far as I know you're the only candidate, so you must be someone special." She gave Sarah a bright, charming smile and though the blonde didn't know why, the constant aura of happiness grated at her.

Sarah scowled. "Not that special. We're old colleagues."

Greta arched a brow. "_Ohh..._" she said with a conspiratorial nod. "Well then all this makes more sense now." It was suddenly quite clear to Sarah that she wasn't the only one who had a history with Bryce.

Sarah shook her head vehemently. "We were work colleagues. That's all," she insisted in case she hadn't been clear the first time. "We both interned on the same project after college."

"Of course, Ms. Walker," the secretary said amicably, but Sarah wasn't convinced the woman had gotten the point. Carina would never let something like this happen to her but then again, she wasn't Carina, and for the most part Sarah thought that was a good thing.

Still, the ordinary, albeit overly cheerful administrative assistant didn't seem aware of the erroneous error she had made by instigating Sarah with Bryce. The blonde was about to say something to correct her—her reputation was at stake here—but she didn't have time.

"Well there you go," Greta pointed to a giant, highly polished, solid wood door with a small plaque to the side in silver finishing that read _Division Manager_ but no name. "Go right ahead, Mr. Larkin is waiting."

Sarah frowned. "Are you sure?" The blinds over the window were fully drawn and the lights were shut off. "It doesn't look like he's in yet."

Greta smiled again, an annoyingly wide and innocent smile. Who in the world smiled this much?

"Oh no, it's fine, Mr. Larkin is a little sensitive to the light. Go right ahead."

Sarah stepped forward at the brunette's insistence and knocked once. No answer.

"Just head on in," Greta said. "I let him know you were coming when they paged me downstairs."

Sarah wondered if Greta also snooped around Bryce's desk while he wasn't in his office, but realized she was being inappropriate. She hadn't even technically started work yet; she really shouldn't get on anyone's bad side.

"Bryce?" Sarah questioned Greta's advice as she twisted the handle, opening the door. In an instant a hand grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her inside, slamming the door closed and trapping her inside, causing a brief yelp to escape her lips.

Caught off guard, Sarah was embarrassed to admit that her assailant had the upper hand.

"Bryce Larkin!" she hissed as she and her assailant struggled in the dark. Sarah was well versed in close quarters fighting and her opponent was apparently even better.

"Who are you and what do you want?"

Sarah frowned. "Bryce, it's me! It's Sarah. "

"Sarah who? I don't know a Sarah!" He stood on the precipice between tackling her and keeping her from hitting the floor. The erratic twitches of his muscles made it very hard for Sarah to decide exactly how she was to handle the situation.

"Sarah Walker." Sarah never expected her name to be the secret password. The tension in the room suddenly eased. The man pulled her back to her feet and walked over to the outer window. He flicked one small part of the blind, allowing only the faintest glimmer of light to enter the office. It was only then that Sarah could confirm the identity of the man who had tried to subdue her.

"Sarah?" Bryce said her namely quietly, ruminating on her sudden appearance. "How the hell did you find me?"

Sarah wrinkled her brows. "It's not that hard," she said.

This caused Bryce to look over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"You're division manager of one of the largest technology companies in the world. You're profile is featured on the company website. Everyone knows where you work." She paused for the information to sink in. "It's not really a secret."

Bryce stood in silence as he slowly processed the information. As if Sarah had just lifted a veil, he began to relax.

"Of course," he said as he straightened his tie and posture. "You're right, Sarah." Suddenly he walked over and flicked the lights on for himself with no ill effect. "Gosh, I'm being incredibly rude. Here, have a seat. Would you like anything? I can have Greta get you some coffee."

Sarah stared hard at the man in front of her. What was wrong with him? Was the reason Beckman kept him from field work some sort of personality disorder?

"Wow, so, Sarah Walker, I haven't seen you in forever, how have you been?" Bryce flashed a dazzling smile, the kind she remembered best, and she very nearly forgot about the incident earlier. He was just so...so..._Bryce_ now.

"It's been a long week," Sarah said. It was best to keep things vague for now. "How about you?"

He shrugged. "Same here." He leaned forward, examining her in a way that made Sarah slightly uncomfortable. Thank God there was a table between them. "Not that it's not nice to see you again, but what are you really doing here?"

Sarah liked a person ready to cut to the chase. "I'm here to help you," she said. Until she figured out how much she could trust Bryce, she wasn't going to let on more than she didn't have to.

"I don't need help," he said flatly.

Sarah gave him a quizzical look. "Maybe you don't, but they sent me here to assist you. Didn't you read any of Beckman's messages? Didn't she tell you to expect me?"

Bryce's eyes flitted towards his computer. "I don't trust them," he said.

"Trust who?"

He nodded to what appeared to be a very expensive and sophisticated computer monitor. "Computers. You can't trust them."

_Okay._ Sarah took a deep breath. "So I guess a lot has changed in five years, huh?" she murmured under her breath. This was officially a disaster. She couldn't hold Bryce's attention for longer than a few seconds without raising his suspicion.

"You recommended me to Beckman. Do you remember that?" Not that she was bitter about it or anything—okay, who was she kidding, Bryce was the reason she was even here. She glared at him, daring him to deny her accusation. "You told her that I was the only person you could trust."

Now she was wondering if Beckman was just feeding her lines to justify her falsified burn notice.

"Oh." Bryce frowned and his brows knitted, deep in thought.

"Project Omaha? Dr. Fleming had a cipher with names? Candidate X?" Now Sarah was really starting to panic. What if she was really benched? What if there was no mission and she had just been let out to pasture?

Bryce flinched. "_Ah..._" He winced and gripped his head. "_Right,_" he moaned. "Beckman wants to find Candidate X."

Sarah sighed. He wasn't instilling much confidence in her. Was he really the person she would have to report back to?

"Maybe I'll just call Beckman and we can clear this up." Sarah pulled out her phone and started thumbing through her contacts when Bryce suddenly made a spectacular show of grabbing her phone and smashing it down onto his desk.

"What the hell!" Sarah shouted, clutching her chest. A small part of her soul felt like it had died in the fray. "My whole frigging life is on that thing!" Sarah snatched her beloved phone back. The display was still intact, but the characters on the screen were jittery and didn't move properly to her touch anymore. The keyboard still worked...that was something. "What is wrong with you?" Sarah demanded.

"Your phone is made by Roark Industries." Bryce took the phone back and pointed out the Roark Industries logo. "You can't trust it."

"I've had this phone for ages," Sarah huffed. "You broke my phone!"

"It's better that way," Bryce explained. Clearly she was not going to get an apology from him. "Now we can talk."

Sarah crossed her arms, making it quite clear she wasn't interested in discussing the full circumstances of her assignment. She still hadn't let Carina know how supremely pissed off she was and until then, anything could potentially set her off. "They burned me, Bryce, and sent me here to work with you to find Candidate X. Until I do, I'm basically a modern leper to the Agency.

"So please, tell me what I can do to find this person and get this over with as soon as possible." Sarah looked at him expectantly. A part of her wanted to place all her faith in him. He'd been touted as one of the best the agency had to offer. It used to riddle her with envy, but now she was dependent on it. The fact that he was apparently two tacos short of a combination plate wasn't helping the situation.

"I don't know," Bryce said. "It hasn't been my primary objective here. I mostly do surveillance work." He leaned back in his seat and withdrew his hands from the table. Sarah wanted to latch onto his wrists to keep him from backing away farther, but she figured it would make her look a tad too desperate.

Sarah looked at her broken phone and sighed. "I think we should pick up where we left off," she said. Patience was the only way she was going to get through this.

To her surprise, Bryce smiled. "Really?" His smile widened. "Well, I'm relieved to hear you say that. We're partners again, after all, but I thought it might be awkward for you."

"_Uh..._" Sarah paused. "So you'll tell me what you did in Project Omaha?"

Her words caused Bryce to balk. "_Umm_..." He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Cause we're partners now...and you stayed with the project longer than I did...and we're working on the same project now..." She wasn't sure how many clues she had to string along to get him to catch on. Seriously, what the hell did they do to him in Project Omaha?

Bryce frowned and his posture stiffened. "Oh," he said, his voice flat and just a tad cold. "So that's what you meant."

Sarah arched a brow. "Uh, what other way would I mean it?"

_Oh God. _She could see it now. They were never going to uncover a hidden plan to build a secret human supercomputer—wait—or was it superhuman computer? Regardless, she was doomed to spend the rest of her career wasting away at a desk while Carina lived up the life on a yacht in the Mediterranean.

It just wasn't fair. This was all Carina's fault.

The thought was so miserable she wanted to cry.

"You know, Sarah, we shouldn't really discuss this here." Bryce looked up at the ceiling. "The office is secure, but you never know who may be watching."

If the office was secure surely there wasn't any harm? Still, if it would get this mission moving, then she was willing to try just about anything. "Where should we talk about it?"

"Why don't we discuss the details over dinner?" Bryce smiled at her again, that same smile from earlier. "You know, really catch up."

Sarah frowned. Now she was confused; hadn't she just suggested the very same thing? "About Project Omaha?"

Bryce shrugged. "Among other things."

"Bryce, I'm not sure you follow but I just want to catch up on Project Omaha," she said. She wasn't interested in what other projects he might have on the side. She needed to focus, get back in Beckman's good graces, and get the heck out of here. "I can't go back until we find Candidate X."

"Sarah!" Bryce said her name in exasperation. "Don't you think we should talk? You left without even saying goodbye."

Sarah bit her tongue. She was naive if she thought she could get through their first meeting without discussing their past; or better put, she was naive to believe they could remain professional about this partnership.

"I was reassigned. And you told me yourself you'd been selected for a classified op that went beyond my clearance. So really, I'd say you were the one to leave first without saying goodbye." She wasn't even going to bring up the other offense he'd dealt her. It would only seem petty now.

"Oh that." Bryce looked at her tentatively. "Are you still angry with me?"

"No, of course not." Their work relationship had been pleasant if not a tad competitive and their personal relationship had been brief with the emotions that went with it briefer still. She'd felt all sorts of acute emotions with him—passion, anger, despair—but the resulting dénouement had allowed her to realize it had just been a phase. "It was a long time ago, I'm over it."

They were so new to the game then. People, hell, even normal people, made the same mistakes they had. Carina had made tons of similar mistakes.

"So you're not mad," he said, more for his benefit than hers. "And you think we could be friends?"

"Well," Sarah said. "I suppose we could be partners, but you're going to have to help me, Bryce. I'm not doing this alone."

Bryce sighed. "You drive a hard bargain, Sarah Walker."


	6. The Search: Sarah vs The Cell Phone

**_A/N: _**_Many thanks again to **Altonish** who helped me write, among many other items, a great little moment near the end and to **mxpw** for giving me the green light on the chapter and more importantly, my version of Carina. _

_

* * *

_**The Search:** Sarah vs The Cell Phone

There was a message at the front desk for her when Sarah returned to the hotel. "Your '_secret lover_' called," the woman behind the desk said with a blush, handing her a card with a long series of numbers. When Sarah turned her back, there was an outburst of quiet giggles behind her.

Sarah rolled her eyes and grumbled something inappropriate under her breath. She made her way quickly to the elevator and locked herself inside her room as fast as she could.

The keypad on her phone still worked, even if the screen was wonky but she hated how it kept rebooting itself trying to deal with whatever damage Bryce had done to it. She dialled the call-back number as soon as she had cleared all her belongings off the bed and when she heard the call being picked-up, she said: "Way to be mature, Carina." Her voice was slightly garbled and the speaker sounded tinny. She was going to kill Bryce for murdering her poor phone.

There was a laugh, a pause, and then an utterly innocent voice that said: "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I hope some beach bum gives you syphilis."

Carina _tsk_ed. "Some friend you are. I go to all this trouble to find a secure line so we can contact each other and that's how you thank me?"

"They put out a burn notice on me!" Sarah nearly screamed. "In case you haven't noticed, Carina, my life is ruined."

"Aw, don't be such a drama queen." Carina made some soothing noises, but with the distortion on her phone they only grated on Sarah's nerves further. Of course, she had nothing to worry about; she was probably lounging in a skimpy bikini on a pristine beach off the Mediterranean Sea. "I'm sure things will work out. It can't be that bad. I hear you hooked up with Bryce Larkin again."

Hearing Carina mention the man's name only brought back unpleasant memories.

"It's work related," Sarah huffed. "I'm not here to _hook-up _with Bryce," she stated. "At least not like you did." There was a certain edge to her voice, such that even Carina didn't attempt any jabs. "I'm sorry." Sarah gnashed her teeth together. That was a cheap shot, even if this was Carina.

"You know what you need? You need to get out and let loose. All this pent up negative energy can't be good for you. Go shopping! Go and splurge on a nice car or something."

Sarah gave a sarcastic bark. "Ha! Unlike some other people, I don't make a habit of stealing from the government that employs me."

"Oh, Sarah. You can't steal something from someone if it never belonged to them in the first place. I gave them a cut of the profit. I was more than generous."

Sarah rolled her eyes. That was exactly the type of mentality her father had, and look where that landed him. "Carina, you have to give it back. Once you start down this path there's no turning back."

Carina only laughed. "You worry too much. Nothing is going to happen. I'm just being smart. It's not like you can live comfortably off a government pension these days." There was a pause where Sarah fumed while Carina took a sip of her drink. "Listen, if you're a good girl I'll wire over your share. I was going to save it for when you get back to D.C., but something tells me you might be in L.A. for awhile."

"I don't want your money," Sarah said. "And you _are_ going to give it all back." She wasn't sure how she was going to wrangle that but she would find a way.

"You're such a square," Carina said. "I bet you don't even know how to have fun without me."

The accusation made Sarah flush with indignation. "I do too! I have loads of fun without you! All the time!" It was one lie after another and she had no idea what spurned it. "In fact, tonight, Bryce asked me out to dinner."

"And I thought you weren't going to have any fun with Bryce?"

_Gah!_ Carina knew how to push her buttons all too well. "Well, you know, he could still be good for a little fun," Sarah replied, lying as if her life depended on it. "He's my boss and we used to work together. We should catch up and who knows, it could lead to a little fun."

Carina's cackling carried so loudly Sarah had to hold the phone away from her ear.

"Whatever, Carina, I have to go now," Sarah said and the last thing she heard before she hung up on her friend was the sound of something between a hysterical hyena and a choking seal.

* * *

Sarah decided she hated her best friend somewhere between her third and fifth shot. Here she was in some dingy nightclub all alone because she'd tried to do the right thing. Her father had been right. No good deed went unpunished.

This was all Carina's fault.

Sometime between when the guy with the missing front teeth wanted to buy her a drink and the guy who smelled like he didn't ever bathe tried to pull her onto the dance floor, she formed a long, angry text message to Carina with some very well-formed expletives. All things considered, she was rather impressed with herself for being able to form intelligible sentences after eleven shots.

She was going to send the message, but then her phone rebooted again and she lost what she'd typed. Sarah pounded her phone on the bar table, trying to beat it into submission, but all she ended up doing was startling the drunken floozy next to her, spilling her drink all over Sarah's dress.

"Uggh!" the floozy uttered. "Watch what you're doing!" Sarah was about to snap back when the floozy's meathead boyfriend appeared at the bar. "Joey, this bimbo bumped into me and spilled my drink!"

Sarah rolled her eyes. It took all of her self-control to stay seated on the bar stool, clenching her defunct phone and not using it to pummel the civilian into oblivion. It was probably for the better anyway, she wasn't sure she could stand upright at the moment.

"Hey yous better pologizeforwhatyoudid," the floozy's boyfriend said in one long slurred sentence. "Or you'll be sorry."

She wasn't sure why a giant meathead in Los Angeles would have a New Jersey accent, but she wasn't particularly interested. "You better apologize or you'll be sorry," Sarah snapped back. It was probably the alcohol that told her she could take on the floozy, the meathead and the meathead's entourage but she was feeling pretty lucky today. And really, what kind of a man would hit a woman?

"No, _you_'lls be sorry," the boyfriend warned, pointing a shaky finger at her. Sarah was about to show him exactly where she put wayward fingers that were waved at her, when suddenly a man cut in between them. He was tall, lanky really, but his presence caused the drunken slobs to back up.

"Actually, how about we all just say sorry and forget it happened. I'll buy everyone a round of drinks. On me, okay?"

This seemed to appease everyone except Sarah, who watched quietly as the tension dissipated and they were once again back to blaring white noise and drunken, complacent voices. It was a shame. A fight might have been fun.

"Are you alright?" the man asked once it was just the two of them at the bar. "It's too bad about your phone. I might be able to fix it. I'm pretty handy with electronics..."

Sarah strained her ears but she couldn't catch what the stranger said after that. All she knew was that he was really nice. Really, really nice. Like, way too nice to be in some gross, sweaty, underground club saving her from drunken slobs.

He took her phone from her and started to take it apart. She grew concerned for a moment but it was broken anyway, how much more harm could come to it? She blinked at him blearily as he kept up a constant stream of chatter while he worked on her phone.

"You see?" the man said. "This model is a little delicate, if you hit it too hard the circuit board cracks right here." He pointed it out to Sarah, but she didn't see anything. All she knew was that her phone was on the bar in some club in about eighteen little pieces.

"Hey, can I borrow an ice pick?" The man asked the bartender. The bartender consented and handed one over, which the man used to pry one of the little chips out of her circuit board. She then watched as he took out his own phone and took it apart. After about a minute he took the chip out of his own phone and used his circuit board to replace Sarah's. "Do you have any tape?" he asked the barman, who dutifully handed over a scotch tape dispenser. "Thanks."

Sarah watched in amazement as he replaced the cracked circuit board in her phone and then attached the chip from her phone. Finally, he put a little piece of tape over the SIM Card, but under the battery, as he reassembled it and took the cover off of his own phone to replace the cracked cover on hers and turned it back on.

"There, good as new," the man offered the phone back to her with a crooked smile.

"But...but...what about your phone?" Sarah asked. "Isn't your phone just broken now?"

The man shrugged. "This is a Roark phone; I know where to get parts for them really cheaply. Don't even worry about it, I'll fix mine tomorrow."

Sarah gave him a confused look. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Why not?" The man asked as he gave the tape and ice pick back to the bartender. He turned and smiled at her again.

She shouldn't be expected to know why not. She'd had eleven shots. There was a twelfth one sitting on the bar that had come when he ordered everyone another round, but she hadn't touched it.

"Are you enjoying the band?"

"What band?" Sarah asked.

The man pointed at the stage and Sarah wondered if perhaps that was why she was having trouble hearing what the man sitting beside her was saying.

"Midnight Angels, they're really good. They haven't quite caught on yet, but they're going to be huge..."

Sarah pretended to listen as she stared up at him. He was cute in a bookish sort of way. He had a nervous way of smiling at her, it was so sweet and _hell,_ was he still talking? She really loved the way his hair curled; she wondered if she should ask if she could run her fingers through it. She was sure it would feel really nice.

She wished she had met him at a museum or an art gallery or something sophisticated like that. Then later, when they've been long married and people asked how they met, she wouldn't have to say she was drunk out of her mind in some dirty dance club and he had to save her from embarrassing herself. It would be a more appropriate story for the kids, you know?

_Holy hell-_marriage? Kids?

Yes, even Sarah could see that she was indeed, _that_ drunk. She really shouldn't have had that last shot. That was the one that really did her in.

Sarah smiled up at the stranger. He seemed really nice and genuine. He'd saved her phone; the only connection she had left to a world where she wasn't just some burned spy. In a sense, he'd saved her life.

_Wow. That was deep. _

Sarah sighed. Why couldn't she meet people like him more often? Why couldn't he have been there when the Agency came recruiting?

"Hi," Sarah finally said, causing the stranger to finally pause from his rambling. And then, without wondering whether or not it was appropriate, she kissed him.

Again.

And again.

It took a moment, but finally, he was kissing her back.

Again.

And again.

Who said Carina was the only one who knew how to have fun?


	7. The Search: Sarah vs The Bills

**_A/N :_**_ This is one of my favorite chapters to write by far. I owe **mxpw** a lot of credit for persuading to go this route instead of the route I had gone. It took me awhile but I see the light now. =P The always wise **Altonish** suggested an alteration in this chapter as well that will soon provide many moments of comedic gold. You'll see. In the meantime, please enjoy! _

* * *

**The Search:** Sarah vs The Bills

Sarah woke in a strange place. This was not a shock. She remembered she'd just arrived in Los Angeles and was starting her new assignment today. What was a shock was how tiny the room was, how messy it looked, and how it was not her hotel room. The latter was the most alarming.

The events of the night before were still a blur. She did a quick scan of the room but the motion made her nauseous and she had to lie back down. Oh this was deplorable. She was going to her first day of work with a massive hangover.

_Thank you, Carina_, she thought, feeling miserable and sorry for herself.

Her internal grumbling must have externalized itself, because the chair against the wall and the computer desk suddenly spun around and she realized she was not alone. Sarah yelped and sat up straight, hugging the comforter closer to her body.

"Good morning," he mumbled, still half-asleep. The man slowly stretched, his lanky limbs awkwardly flexing and separating from the cramped confines of the small chair. "Did you sleep well?" he asked.

It took a moment for Sarah to remember him. The dingy nightclub. The drinking. The cute curls. Her phone.

_Oh God!_ The burning embers of shame licked her face bright red when she realized she was no longer wearing the same clothes she'd had on last night. She couldn't decide what was more humiliating: that he'd seen her drunk out of her mind or the fact he'd seen her naked.

Carina was going to have a field day with this.

As if sensing what she must be thinking, the man held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "You threw up all over your clothes so I helped you remove them and gave you one of my old shirts. You did most of the changing yourself and I had my eyes closed. I swear."

The idea that a grown man would be so squeamish over seeing a naked woman made her want to laugh, but his sincerity was refreshing. And what was even more refreshing was that she believed him.

"I'm sorry about last night," she said. She couldn't remember much, but if how she currently felt was any indication, then she was very, very sorry.

"I have to go." The embarrassment was so acute, Sarah was sure even her toes were bright red.

She looked around for her belongings, but of course she had regurgitated on most of them.

The man pointed to the garbage bag lying against the bedroom door. "You can borrow some of mine until you get back to your place," he said. "I would have washed your clothes last night but you wouldn't let me out of your sight."

Sarah turned her head so he wouldn't see her cringe. Oh, if only people could really die of embarrassment she wouldn't have to suffer for much longer. Suddenly, her eyes met with the bright numbers on his alarm clock and they spelled an ill omen for her future.

"I'm sorry, I really have to go," she said. She felt like she must have broken some record when she threw aside the covers, put on the sweats he offered and grabbed her purse and bag of dirty clothing all before the man had a chance to say a single word.

"Thank you for last night," Sarah said as she frantically rummaged through her purse. When she realized what she'd just said, she cringed. "I mean, thank you for taking care of me last night."

"It's fine." The man had a bemused smile on his face and it just made her feel all the more flustered. "By the way, I don't think we were properly introduced last night. I'm—"

"Don't!" Sarah held up her hand before he even had a chance to offer his name in greeting. "Don't tell me your name."

Rather than frown, as Sarah had expected him to, it only made his grin widen. _Oh, he found this amusing did he?_

"Why not?"

"Because..." Sarah searched for a solid reason, but it was very hard when he was simultaneously making her knees weak with those warm brown eyes. "Because this wasn't supposed to happen and I don't...I mean, I can't do these kinds of things."

She had almost said last night had been a mistake, but for some reason she didn't want to.

"Oh," he said. It was a soft and reproachful sound, but not entirely the sound of someone who recognized defeat. "Well that's too bad. I think you would have liked me."

She almost said something likewise when she realized the man was still teasing her. Sarah could not understand how he could still be in such a good mood after the hell of last night and this morning.

"You shouldn't worry about it," the man said. "We didn't _do _anything. I tried to make sure you got home okay, but you couldn't remember where you lived. I promise, nothing you would regret happened last night."

That was easy for him to say. Though she couldn't remember much, Sarah already regretted everything about last night. They had ridden back in a cab...she couldn't remember where she lived...she'd giggled a lot...and he'd offered to let him stay over at his place.

Sarah cringed. This was awful. The details of the evening were slowly coming into focus and it was a sight for sore eyes.

_But nothing happened._

If nothing happened she shouldn't be having all these...these feelings.

_Right? _

_Right?_

Sarah told her conscience to shut up. Better to rip off the Band-Aid then go slowly and make it worse. "Okay. So goodbye."

The man gave her a rueful grin, but nodded. "I'll show you to the door."

It was a small apartment and they made idle chitchat as they walked down the hall and into the common living area, which consisted of a kitchen, decent sized living room and the front door. She was in too much of a hurry to leave to carefully investigate her surroundings, but she liked his home. It was neat and she had a clear path to the doorway, but every nook and cranny seemed to be overstuffed with clutter. She felt like it was a real home rather than the prefabricated, perfect little hotel room she came from.

He asked if she needed a taxi or a ride and she immediately declined. The last thing she needed was to be even more indebted to him than she already was.

At the door she scrounged through her purse for her wallet. Her hand brushed over her good-as-new phone and she fought the urge to blush. Her phone definitely shouldn't cause these kinds of feelings. She grabbed as many bills as she could. "Here. I'm really sorry about the mess," she said, awkwardly pushing some crumpled bills into his hand. "I don't usually do this sort of thing and thank you for being so considerate. And thanks for...for...well, thanks."

The man looked bewildered and a blush crept to his cheeks. "_Um..._" He held the bills in his hand, as if unsure what they were. "_Um..._._" _

Suddenly, a tall brunette in scrubs stumbled into the kitchen. The sight of the brunette woman in the man's apartment had a strange effect on her. She wanted to scratch the woman's eyes out almost as much as she wanted to run away. "Oh morning, have you had breakfast—"

"Ellie!" the man yelped and quickly shoved the bills back into Sarah's hand, using his lanky figure to shield her from the intruder. "What are you doing up this early?"

"I had to work the graveyard shift, remember? I just got home," the brunette said. Sarah examined the wrinkled blue scrubs. Some sort of nurse perhaps. "_Crazy_ night," she said with a roll of her eyes.

Sarah gulped. The woman had no idea.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," Ellie said, walking forward with her hand extended. Sarah tried to stuff the bills hastily into her pocket, but the noise they made was so loud it was as if she were trying to force cellophane into the small space.

Ellie froze in her steps, a shocked look on her face as she looked from Sarah's pocket to the man then back to the offending pocket. Her mouth opened repeatedly, but no sound came out. She looked as if she'd just seen an alien.

"That's okay. She was just leaving," the man said and opened the front door, blocking the way so Ellie couldn't chase after her.

Sarah mumbled something between an apology and a goodbye and made a run for sweet freedom. She didn't care how she looked or if she was even going in the right direction, she just wanted the embarrassment of this morning to be over.


	8. The Search: Sarah vs the Cover Up

**_A/N: _**_My hometown was the world's second coldest place on Earth right behind Antarctica today. It was -27F or -33C and it was very miserable. That's not an excuse for not posting faster, but the cold weather does make me very sluggish. _

_This chapter could not have come to be without the continued support of **Altonish** and **mxpw. **I am immensely jealous of their talent and the fact they live in more temperate climates.  
_

_

* * *

_**The Search: Sarah vs the Cover-Up **

"Oh God, Walker, and then you _paid_ him?" Carina roared with laughter. "You are such a pariah. How much? Please, I have to know."

Sarah's cheeks flushed with shame and she wondered why she had called her friend at all. "Can you please try to be supportive for once in your life?"

She didn't know why calling Carina had been her first priority, but she wanted to talk to someone about what had happened last night. It was probably because she had nobody else to talk to. Unfortunately, Carina was many things, but a supportive confidant she was not.

"Exactly, that's why you have to tell me how much you paid for his time. Maybe you underpaid him. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't correct your errors?"

Sarah growled. "That is so not the point!"

"Well what is the point? You don't know his name, you're probably never going to see him again—oh, unless you wash his dirty old clothes and give them back to him." There was a pause and Sarah felt like Carina was baiting her. "You're not going to do that, are you?"

Sarah briefly sniffed the faded grey 'Caltech' shirt she was wearing. It seemed clean enough, although it had a faint musky scent that Sarah wasn't entirely sure she wanted to wash off. "Well I should, shouldn't I?" It looked like a shirt that he might have really treasured, but for whatever reason, this didn't increase Sarah's desire to give it back.

Carina laughed. "Not unless you want an excuse to see him again." Her friend already assumed the ridiculous truth. "You do, don't you?"

Sarah squirmed in her seat. "No! It was just a stupid... You know what? Shut up! You're making me late for work."

"God, you're so hopeless. Stop calling me if you don't want to listen to my advice. I'm late for a Bocci Ball Tournament."

Sarah wrinkled her brows. "What?" Before she had time to make fun of her, Carina had already hung up. She rolled her eyes. It was so typical of her friend to chase after the next big thing; it was a wonder she got anything done at all.

Now if only she could get the room to stop spinning, she'd be able to get to work.

* * *

Eventually Sarah stepped off the merry-go-round and found some solid footing. It was far too late to be heading in for her first day of work, but it wasn't like she was actually a contributing member of Roark Industries and it wasn't like she really had any PR work to do. She was sure if Bryce needed someone to type up a press release his perky little secretary could manage that all on her own. So really, the eight-thirty to five work schedule was merely a suggestion.

So Sarah took a more leisurely shower than was really required, ate a few saltines and a handful of aspirins, and painstakingly concealed any hint of what had happened last night with her arsenal of make-up.

It was almost noon by the time Sarah arrived at the ninth floor but it was of note that she was fashionably late in the fullest sense of the phrase. The more miserable she was on the inside, the more obliged she felt to look the very opposite. It was important not to rouse any suspicion of what she had done the night before.

"Good morning, Ms. Walker," Greta greeted from the main desk. She was swamped with papers; otherwise Sarah was sure the woman would have jumped up to give her a hug. It was a good thing that didn't happen because Sarah liked her personal space.

"Morning, Greta," Sarah replied.

"Would you like me to show you to your cubicle?" Sarah was about to protest, but Greta had already started to throw papers aside in order to get to her.

Sarah bobbed her head as she followed the woman into the open office. There were several islands of cubicles, each blocked off by a set of tall dividers and Sarah assumed the names Greta had rattled off were the individuals sharing her adjoining space.

"Your cubicle is right outside Chuck's office. It's weird, Chuck is usually never this late," Greta murmured. Sarah made no mention of her own tardiness and it didn't seem to register with Greta either.

"Who's Chuck?" Sarah couldn't care less, but it felt like the polite thing to do. Greta seemed quite concerned for him.

Greta smiled at the mention of his name. "Oh, he's one of the head developers here. He kind of works on his own schedule, but he's absolutely brilliant." It seemed the size of the brunette's smile was directly proportional to the length of time spent on the topic of this Chuck.

"You'll like him. Everyone does."

"I'm sure I will," Sarah said, making cursory glances at her fellow employee's cubicles. She didn't know anything about them and she wasn't interested in knowing them either. Unless they were involved with Project Omaha, they were irrelevant.

Sarah noticed that most of the cubicles in this section of the office were empty. She poked her head around, but the only space with a computer was the one Greta said was hers. It had exactly one computer, one monitor, one keyboard one mouse and one phone. Not exactly deluxe office space, but Sarah didn't really care.

Greta must have noticed her checking out the other cubicles, because she explained. "Chuck likes it quiet. Some of the other developers can be kind of...noisy."

"Oh." Sarah shrugged. This Chuck sounded uptight.

"Before I forget, Mr. Larkin has been asking for you. He'd like to see you as soon as you get settled. " Greta's smile wavered for a second there, but it just as quickly double-backed. "Well, that's all. Have a great first day!"

Sarah forced a smile. "So far it has been," she lied as she shrugged off her jacket and prepared herself for her meeting with the boss.

* * *

Bryce was sitting between piles of paperwork in his lit office waiting for her. It was a nice change from the ambush of yesterday and for a second Sarah hoped it meant Bryce was no longer so _Bryce_, but her hopes were quickly dashed when he opened his mouth.

"You're thee hours, thirty minutes, and twenty seconds—twenty-one seconds—twenty-two seconds—"

"Okay, Bryce, I get the point," Sarah said, taking a seat. "Sorry, I'll be in earlier tomorrow."

Bryce's stiff posture failed to relax. "Why were you late?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

Sarah gave him the same weird look in return. Who was he, her babysitter? "I got a little lost last night and got in late, what's it to you?"

Bryce gave her a hard stare, but Sarah sat still and refused to say more; it was her experience that saying more usually helped less. Plus, she refused to accept last night had even happened so what was the point?

They were at a standstill. The office was dead silent except for the occasional swish of water from the fishbowl beside Bryce's computer. Odd, she hadn't considered Bryce the kind of person capable of caring for another. It was Greta who probably fed that poor goldfish.

"Sarah, I need to know I can trust you. We're going to be working together and there may come a time when my life might rest in your hands or vice versa. I don't want to wonder if you're being straight with me. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Sarah leaned back in her seat. Considering how she was the one who was probably more capable at this point, shouldn't she be the one asking that question? "Of course."

Bryce nodded. "Exactly. So, where were you last night?"

Sarah narrowed her eyes. Two could play this game. "Out. Now that we got that out of the way, what exactly happened with you and Project Omaha?"

The words made the man bristle. "What do you mean?"

Sarah had a feeling she was going where none had ventured before. "Bryce. You're...different now than from when we first worked together. What happened?"

"It's been a long time. People change. I remember you as being friendlier," he retorted, and crossed his arms like a child who had lost an argument but refused to accept it.

Sarah was willing to admit she could be a bit of a bitch, but at least she wasn't insane. She tried her best to keep a smile on her face. The last thing she wanted was for Bryce to feel threatened.

"Bryce, we're never going to get anywhere on this case if we don't talk about Project Omaha."

"We will, just somewhere other than this office," Bryce replied. "I wanted to discuss it last night, but you apparently had plans," he added petulantly." At the thought of having dinner, he leaned forward, all excited again. "I know this great place. You'll like it."

Sarah nearly rolled her eyes. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk about it now. Let's start with the test. Did you have to take it? Do you know anyone else who took this test?"

Bryce's lips were sealed. He let the silence lengthen for almost a minute before he changed the subject again. "Where you were last night?" he asked for what felt like the tenth time already.

"Bryce, my personal time is just that. _Personal_. Let's focus on work." Sarah wondered if she had any aspirin left in her bag. She knew the warning label on the bottle advised against more than six a day but surely those rules weren't for agents.

"So you _were_ doing something." Bryce arched his brows and it was clear from the way his lips twitched that his mind was racing with the possibilities.

Sarah gritted her teeth. "This is my last warning, Bryce. What I do in my off hours isn't up for discussion. While we are both at work, we should discuss work-related topics. For example, how were you approached about the aptitude test for Dr. Fleming's work?"

Sarah couldn't tell if Bryce was being difficult because she'd refused to go out to dinner with him last night or because she'd refused to speak about what she'd done instead of having dinner with him.

"I'd be happy to tell you everything you need to know, during our _personal_ time," Bryce said. "I told you, this isn't the place to discuss these sorts of things. You have a cover to maintain and you were late by more than three hours this morning." Bryce crossed his arms. "You'll need to make that time up. I don't want the other employees thinking they don't have to work a full day."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Bryce, it's not like it's a real job."

Bryce glared at her. "It's your cover; if you aren't going to take your cover seriously then you're going to be exposed and I'm not working with someone who's risking the mission because she's afraid of a little hard work."

Sarah huffed. "I'm not even the only person in the department who's late. Chuck isn't here either!"

Bryce's entire body twitched at the mention of the name. "You've met Chuck?"

Sarah had no idea what was so important about this Chuck character, but it seemed Bryce was very concerned about him as well.

"No, Greta mentioned him." Bryce's startled expression waned somewhat but he still appeared troubled by the news.

Bryce narrowed his eyes. "Chuck works more hours than anyone in this department. If you work as hard at your job as Chuck does at his, we won't have a problem. Speaking of your job, you're coming with me to the opera tonight; I trust you have something appropriate to wear?"

Sarah blinked. Had she just been coerced on a date? "I didn't agree to that!" she objected.

Bryce looked awfully satisfied as he explained. "Yes, well you're the public relations manager for our division. Roark Industries has arranged a tour for the President of Zamibia and some of his men. Afterwards, they're attending a show with some of the executives. I have to go and it's appropriate for each division's PR manager to attend as well. Plus, it will be a good opportunity for you to rub elbows with some of the people we're watching."

Even though everything Bryce said sounded reasonable, Sarah was still apprehensive. He seemed eager to corner her into a social one-on-one. "I'm not here for your Fulcrum mission, Bryce. I'm supposed to find Candidate X."

Bryce shushed her angrily. "Not here!" he grumbled through gritted teeth. In a flash his demeanour snapped back to calm. "Excellent. It's settled then," he said without waiting for a response. "Now make sure not to look too happy when you leave my office."

Sarah couldn't imagine that being a problem.

* * *

Sarah was in such a dour mood when she got back to her cubicle that even Greta was hesitant to approach.

How had he wrangled her into helping him maintain his cover while simultaneously thwarting her second attempt at getting a straight answer out of him about her real assignment? It was maddening. Perhaps Carina was right. Perhaps the only way she'd get a debrief on Project Omaha was if she _de-briefed_ him.

Sarah shuddered. It was an unpleasant prospect and she hoped she wouldn't have to resort to it. She tried to tell herself she had much higher standards than Carina did.

She began reorganizing the items at her new desk and was getting settled in when she heard Greta's voice suddenly break through the quiet of the office.

"Oh, Chuck, you're here! I was getting worried." There was a squeal that threatened to crack glass. "And you brought coffee, that's so sweet of you!"

"Well, I thought you deserved it since you work so hard to make sure Bryce doesn't drive us all up the wall."

Sarah felt her heart jump into her throat. _That voice sounded familiar_—but Sarah only knew half a dozen people in Los Angeles. It couldn't be.

Greta laughed and squealed and made all sorts of noises that a human shouldn't ever make. Sarah spun around in her seat and faced the window, but the voices were not going away. In fact, they were getting louder.

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut. _Please don't come any closer. Please don't come any closer._

But they did and the voice—_that_ voice—only grew louder. "So, what's this I hear about Bryce hiring someone to clean up his public image?"

"Oh, Chuck," Greta tittered. "She's doing public relations for the whole department. Here, let me introduce you, she's going to share the same island as you."

"I guess I better start behaving," Chuck joked and Greta laughed far too much for the small joke.

Sarah shrank against her chair but somehow managed to calm herself down. She was just hearing things. She met a man last night that she kind of liked and now she thought other people sounded like him. All masculine voices sounded pretty much the same really. Certainly everything that could go wrong this week had already gone wrong. God didn't hate her enough to do this.

"Hey Sarah, I want to introduce you to Chuck Bartowski." Greta tapped twice on the side of Sarah's cubicle wall. "He's one of RI's best software developers—when he actually decides to work. "

Chuck laughed softly. "Touché."

Sarah cringed again. The small breakfast and the fistful of aspirins she had downed this morning before driving over threatened to upheave themselves and suddenly the room was spinning again.

Once the jokes had subsided, Sarah felt their attention upon her. She knew Chuck was waiting for her to look at him.

_Well, maybe it's not him,_ she thought and tried to cheer herself with that. What were the odds the man she'd picked up in a dingy bar last night would happen to be the same man working in the same company, department, and office beside her? _Exactly._ She was getting all worked up over nothing.

She'd managed to calm herself sufficiently to speak, but the second she turned her head, she forgot what she was going to say.

It was him.

_Naturally._

With her luck, how could it not?

Now in natural lighting and with the absence of alcohol she thought he looked even better than he had last night. The sight of him made the room spin again and all of a sudden she remembered the way he had come in between her and that meathead and how he'd offered to drive her home and how much she enjoyed kissing him.

She licked her lips. _Good God._ Was she still drunk?

"Oh!" Chuck took half a step back. "Hi!"

Sarah wished she could be like a chameleon and just blend in with the chair and hide. It took all her effort, which was monumental, but she did not run to hide in the bathroom or collapse in a mortified heap, all things she'd considered in the last five seconds. Instead, she surged forward out of her chair and gave Chuck a hearty handshake.

"Hi!" Sarah exclaimed exuberantly. "It's really nice to meet you, _Chuck. _My name's Sarah; it's really nice to be meeting you right now," Sarah said, jerking her head slightly towards Greta.

Chuck looked at her for a moment like she had some sort of head injury. Then he nodded. "Oh, right, uh, yeah, it's really great to meet you too, _Sarah_."

Greta took in every nuance of the exchange, though. "Are you guys," she pointed to the both of them. "Are you guys all right?"

Sarah blurted out "Yep!" before he could even think of a response, effectively silencing him.

Greta looked at them both suspiciously. "You're sure you two don't know each other?"

Chuck shook his head vigorously "Nope. Never seen her in my life until now." He let go of her hand and gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. "Nice to meet you, Sarah, and welcome to Roark Industries."

He gave her a wink that only she could see, but she did not smile back. It was a true testament to the training she'd received in her early years. She could bluff like the best of them.

"_Thank you_," she said, keeping her eyes focused on Chuck. "I appreciate it."

Chuck grinned back and Sarah let out a small sigh of relief. She was practically shaking with nervousness and she couldn't understand why. She was interacting with harmless civilians. So what if one of them had caught her off guard?

Chuck's smile was innocent but she swore she saw the shade of mischief behind it. "So, I guess I'll be seeing you around?"

Sarah nearly narrowed her eyes. He was teasing her again!

"I suppose you will," she replied. Did she have a choice?


End file.
